


Nepenthe

by minhonew



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, F/F, F/M, Fate, First Meetings, Humor, Love, M/M, One Shot Collection
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-07-09
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:04:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minhonew/pseuds/minhonew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a collection of my Zayn/Harry (+ side pairings) one shots with 1000 to 1500 word limit and different genres.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Poor Baby (Zayn/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No.” Harry sits up and crosses his arms over his chest, cheeks lightly flushed. He looks proper adorable with his pink, indignant face and wild hair sticking up in different directions. “I’ll pretend to have a fever and then you can call in sick for me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Imagine one night person A says they're going to pretend to have a fever the next day so they can skip work and spend time with person B. The next morning, A really does wake up with a fever.

Harry drapes himself over his husband’s back, nuzzling his nose on the side of the older man’s neck and breathing in deeply. He sighs in content and attaches his lips on the soft skin within his reach, nibbling and sucking a mark on it. He grins wickedly when he hears the sharp exhale that swooshes past those sinful lips.

“Haz,” Zayn groans, breathless. He drops his head onto his pillow, head to the side. “What’re you doing?”

“Marking you,” Harry answers with a kiss to the bruise that he has left on Zayn’s neck. Once satisfied, he rolls off of Zayn and stretches out beside him. He reaches out, rubs his thumb on Zayn’s bottom lip and grins at the dazed look that blossoms on Zayn’s face. “Wanna let everyone know you’re mine.”

Recovering from Harry’s sudden onslaught, Zayn chuckles, low and sweet before leaning forward to press his lips against Harry’s. The kiss is short but soft and warm, leaving a fluttery feeling deep within their chests. Zayn waves his hand in the air, their wedding ring glinting under the fluorescent light of their bedroom. “They already do know that.”

Harry shrugs but grabs Zayn’s hand.

“You should go to sleep, early work tomorrow and all.”

Like the child that he is, Harry lets out a loud groan of dissatisfaction at the mention of work. He drops their intertwined hands and curls up on Zayn’s side, one arm thrown over the latter’s waist. “I don’t want to go to work tomorrow.”

Zayn, instinctively, wraps him up in his arms and starts rubbing Harry’s back in gentle circles. “Love, they need you at the clinic. Who else would be able to coax injured athletes back to their feet without you?” he wheedles softly, knowing Harry likes a little bit of praise when it comes to his work as a physiotherapist.

“Liam can do it,” Harry retorts, petulant. He turns in Zayn’s arms and, even without a look, Zayn can already imagine his pout and furrowed eyebrows.

“Hazza—“

“No.” Harry sits up and crosses his arms over his chest, cheeks lightly flushed. He looks proper adorable with his pink, indignant face and wild hair sticking up in different directions. “I’ll pretend to have a fever and then you can call in sick for me.”

Zayn stares reproachfully at Harry, frowning a bit. “It isn’t nice to be pretending sick, babe.”

Harry turns his pout into full force and directs it to Zayn, wide green eyes seeking approval against whiskey-colored ones. Zayn shakes his head and tugs his husband’s hand, beckoning him to lie down. He can easily see that Harry is quite exhausted and sleep is much needed. To be honest, Zayn himself is knackered after spending their whole Sunday babysitting Doniya’s excitable 2-year old daughter. He can barely stay upright and, really, he wishes Harry would just snuggle against him and rest.

“Would you stop pouting please, love?”

Harry must hear and respond to the exhaustion in Zayn’s voice because he doesn’t protest further and, actually, lays down. He tucks his head under Zayn’s chin, pushes his back against Zayn’s chest and brings the older man’s arm around his waist. “M’sorry,” he whispers. “I just really don’t want to go to work.”

“I know.”

“Wanted to spend my day with you.”

“I know.”

“They need me, though.”

“Yes, they do.”

Harry sighs deeply and closes his eyes. “Fine.”

“That’s my Hazza,” Zayn laughs softly, pressing a kiss to the top of Harry’s head. “G’night, baby. Sweet dreams.”

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

When Zayn opens his eyes next day, he’s quite surprised to feel Harry next to him. Normally, the younger man is up and about way before Zayn does, puttering around in the kitchen and making breakfast. This isn’t like him at all, especially since a quick glance to their wall clock alerts Zayn that Harry only has half an hour to spare before his shift at the clinic starts. Immediately concerned, Zayn pushes himself up and looks his husband over. The very first thing he notices is that Harry’s cheeks are flushed red, deeper than last night’s blush of embarrassment, and his eyebrows are furrowed deeply, the countenance of someone in pain. He’s covered in a light sheen of sweat, his curls matted to his forehead, but he’s also shaking like he’s cold. Zayn frowns because it’s in the middle of summer and their flat is unforgiving in absorbing all those heat.

Before he can confirm his suspicions, Zayn is already off the bed and to their bathroom to collect the supplies he needs. He comes back in under 5 minutes with a small basin filled with cold water, towels and fever-reducing medicine. He sets the basin down and presses his palm on Harry’s forehead, feeling the heated skin there. He sighs softly, feeling worried.

“Baby,” he coos, kissing Harry’s heated cheeks. “Wake up, love. You need to take this medicine.”

Harry moans quietly, a pout forming on his lips. His eyes are still closed when he says, “M’hot.”

“I know,” Zayn murmurs, pushing his hand into Harry’s sweaty locks and scratching his scalp softly. “I hate to laugh at you right now, but your wish came true. You have a fever.”

Zayn bends down to dip the towels in cold water. He wrings the water out of one and keeps the other one soaked in it. He gets to work on wiping Harry’s face and neck with the cold towel, hoping to wake him up for the medicine. He’s moved on to rubbing Harry’s arms when the younger man opens his eyes. He looks disoriented but smiles sleepily when he catches Zayn’s eyes.

“Good morning,” Harry greets with a rasp. He frowns at that and rubs the base of his throat. “Why’re you still here? Louis—“

“Louis will have to survive without me.” Zayn chuckles. He unbuttons Harry’s pajama top and wipes his chest with the cold towel. “I need to take care of my sick husband. ‘Course I will be here.”

Harry squints against the early morning sunlight filtering through their curtains, thoughtful. Meanwhile, Zayn finishes his task and drops the towel back into the basin with the water. He leans over Harry and grabs his pillow from his other side, fluffing it up.

“Sit up for the medicine, Haz.”

Harry struggles with the simple task of sitting, obviously drained of his energy, and Zayn helps him up, propping the pillows behind him. Harry beams at him, thankful. He picks up the liquid medicine and the bottle of tablets.

“Do you want the liquid or the tablet?” Zayn asks Harry, holding both of said items up.

“Is the liquid strawberry-flavored? Because if it is, then give me the tablet.”

Zayn laughs softly, shaking his head. He pours some of the liquid fever-reducing medicine into a spoon and gives it to Harry. “It’s orange-flavored, baby.”

Harry hums after he swallows down the medicine and then washes his mouth with a gulp of water. With some help from Zayn, Harry lays back down, snuggling deep into his covers. He smiles at Zayn, his usually bright eyes glazed over with sickness. Zayn leans down to press a soft kiss against his forehead.

“I’ll be back in a mo,” Zayn says, his lips merely an inch away from Harry’s heated skin. “Do you want anything? Pancakes? Toast? Coffee? Tea?”

Harry shakes his head. Slowly, he lets his arms encircle Zayn, pulling him back down against his body. “I want a cuddle.”

With his face half-squished against Harry’s neck, Zayn has no choice but to chuckle and press a kiss against the exposed skin there. This is secretly his favorite, his guilty pleasure Harry—the clingy one. “I’ll cuddle you silly once I put the medicine away, okay babe?”

There is no need to take a look at his face to know that Harry is pulling his impressive set of puppy dog eyes and pout, says, “You can put them away later, Zayn. I want my cuddle now.”

“Fine,” Zayn acquiesces, trying and failing to sound like he’s being burdened. He pushes himself carefully away from Harry and lies down beside him. He gathers his husband in his arms and cuddles him close. “Happy?”

“Over the moon,” Harry chirps, endlessly enthusiastic even if he’s doing poorly.

Zayn threads his fingers on Harry’s hair and gently scratches at the younger man’s scalp, willing him to relax and get some much needed rest. A few seconds later, he hums softly, feeling Harry tuck his head underneath his chin.

“Zayn?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for taking care of me.”

“No need to thank me,” Zayn responds, pressing his nose on Harry’s hair and inhaling deeply. One of his hands wander down to settle on Harry’s back. Idly, he starts rubbing gentle circles on it. “Believe it or not, I enjoy taking care of you.”

“Hmm,” Harry hums sleepily. “Love you, Z.”

Within seconds, Harry is out, snoring softly against Zayn’s chest. Zayn grins to himself, hopelessly endeared with his husband. “I love you, too, Haz.”


	2. The Gay Avenger (Zayn/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Styles. 
> 
> Someday, Zayn will have to thank Louis for GC Nights.

_Never ever pick up Louis’s calls every Thursday night or it’ll never bode well for you._

These will probably work well stuffed inside a fortune cookie. The words are poorly written, barely recognizable given the flimsy nature of where it is being written down (a soggy tissue) and the questionable state of the writer’s subconscious, but it’ll do, Lord knows how important it is that Zayn gets this important note to himself penned down before he got dragged into any more future _GC Nights_ by his best mate, Louis.

“Z, stop being a moping twat and come dance with me.” Oh, speaking of the devil. “You’re ruining my night with your PMS.”

Zayn chugs down the rest of his beer, grimaces at the taste of the watered down shit, and glares at his grinning arse of a friend. “Sod off, Lou,” he hisses, wishing he could smack the shit-eating grin that is slowly stretching the corner of Louis’ lips. “Do not talk to me about a ruined night when you fucked up mine.”

Louis flaps a hand in front of his face, dismissive. “Whatever,” he huffs, calling the bartender over. He orders a screwdriver and plops down onto the empty stool next to Zayn. “You should be thanking me for adding fun into your otherwise sorry excuse of a good night.”

Zayn is about to retort when the bartender returned with Louis’s drink. “Here you go, lad,” he announces, placing the cocktail down in front of Louis. He regards the two with kind brown eyes and a tilt of his head, a stray strand of hair falling into his face. He’s very fit and Zayn, after glancing at Louis, who is currently checking the guy out with hungry eyes, thinks they share the same thought. “Everything alright? Want a refill, mate?” the bartender asks Zayn, nodding at his empty beer mug.

“Nah, I’m good, mate.” Zayn shakes his head with a polite smile. Normally, he’d take revenge against his best mate by taking pleasure in ruffling Louis’s fur by competing for a fit bloke’s attention, but not tonight. Zayn has had enough of chaos for the night. He stands up, digs his pocket for some change and drops them inside the tip jar. He walks past Louis and nudges him knowingly. “Use protection,” he whispers, barely containing his smirk at the indignant squawk that Louis lets out.

Zayn decides to step on the dancefloor. He finds a spot a few feet away from the mass of grinding bodies and slowly moves his hips to the beat that the DJ is playing. He listens closely, realizing that the funky rhythm coming out of the massive speakers is actually a remix of Drake’s _Hotline Bling_ , a somewhat faster and more electronic version. He makes a face at that realization but sucks it up and dances. Some time has passed and Zayn is surprised that he is honestly enjoying himself. Currently, the song playing is pretty unfamiliar to him, so he reckons that this is the best time to head to the loo for a quick wee.

He turns around and stops in his tracks, eyes wide as he takes _him_ in.

Long hair cascading down in soft curls frames a handsome face with wide eyes, tall nose and pouty lips. He’s tall with lovely thick, long legs that are currently pacing along the edges of the dance floor, almost like a prowl, and with a pair of broad shoulders that narrow down to a slim waist. The stranger is wearing a shirt with the sleeves artfully ripped out, showing off an impressive set of biceps with a slew of tattoos up his left, and a pair of sinfully tight skinny jeans. His look is completed by combat boots and an array of necklaces and rings. The expression on his face is almost predatory and it has Zayn shivering in his fucking leather jacket, attracted but also sort of creeped out with the way he keeps on circling the sides of the dance floor in one continuous loop as if he’s on the hunt for his nightly prey.

With a start, Zayn shakes his head to clear it. He must be bordering drunk if he’s checking out this proper textbook definition of a douchebag. He shoves a hand into one of his pockets and pulls out a fag, fiddling with it as he contemplates taking a smoke break. He is about to head out when he hears the unmistakable sound of skin hitting skin. He turns his head to it, eyes wide as he sees a girl with light hair being grinded on by an obvious arsehole. This guy is probably straight, who is stupid enough to think that girls in gay clubs meant they are with their gay friends as opposed to them being gay themselves. He creeps closer towards the two.

“Get lost,” the girl hisses, elbowing the guy. She looks thoroughly disgusted. “I’m not interested.”

The guy, undeterred, merely clicks his tongue and places his hands on either side of the girl’s hips, rubbing his front against her ass. “Don’t play hard to get, bitch,” he growls.

Zayn almost leaps to her defense when he sees the arsehole lick her neck, however, someone beats him to it.

Two big hands with heavily ringed fingers attach themselves on the guy’s hips and Zayn can make out a cross tattooed on the left one. He looks at the stranger’s face and sees the guy from earlier. Zayn watches as the taller of the two pulls on the guy’s hips and starts to fucking dirty dance against him like some goddamned sex machine. The guy’s long hair falls against arsehole’s neck as his hands wander arsehole’s body without any remorse, whatsoever. It is all so obscene and bloody filthy under the club’s strobe lights but Zayn cannot look away.

Arsehole squirms against the tight hold on him, glaring hotly. “Get the fuck away from me, faggot.”

The guy laughs, his head thrown back. He lets go of arsehole and puts a hand on his hip, cocking it to the side. “How does it feel to be grinded on by someone you don’t like, mate?” long haired guy asks, cheeky.

“Fuck off, mate,” arsehole sneers before stomping off towards the nearest exit, cursing and mumbling about nosy queers.

The tall guy doesn’t turn his head away from arsehole’s retreating back until it completely disappears. When it finally does, he looks back at the girl, inclines his head as if to say “Are you alright?” and gives her a dimpled smile. She nods, grateful and relieved, mouthing a silent _thank you_ before following her friends to their table.

There is a moment of hesitation where Zayn contemplates approaching the guy and chatting him up. Fate decides for him and in the next moment, his eyes catch long haired man’s in an intense stare. A slow, pleased smile creeps across the guy’s face. God, he’s breathtaking. Zayn aches to know the color of his eyes.

“Alright, mate?”

Zayn nods, clearing his throat. He feels a bit guilty for assuming that the mystery guy is a douchebag when he turns out to be a brilliant vigilante of some sort. “Fine.”

“Good,” long haired guy beams. He looks Zayn from head to toe and nods appreciatively. “See you ‘round.” He brushes past Zayn, his fingertips brushing Zayn’s forearm softly.

Zayn’s heart lurches to his throat, goosebumps erupting across his skin. He swallows visibly, turning around to look for the mystery guy. He sees him back on the edge of the dance floor, pacing it once again, no doubt waiting for his next target.

This mystery, long haired guy is amazing, is the thing and Zayn would like to get to know him better. Zayn would like to possibly take him out on dates during the day and watch him be this sort of superhero in the night, inside a dimly lit gay club, fighting dumb straight guys off and defending the honor of everyone else that are harassed by them.

Zayn looks around the club, sees a few girls being hungrily eyed on by guys, and thinks he could ask mystery guy out later. Right now, he’ll let him work his magic on sending a few stupid guys home. He makes his way over to the bar and grins when he catches Louis chatting up the bartender. He sits down beside his best mate.

“It was wicked back there,” he tells the two.

Louis stops mid-story. “How so?”

Zayn tells the two of them about the earlier events, leaving out the part where the mystery guy talked to him because he didn’t want Louis to think that by dragging Zayn out, he has unknowingly introduced someone as amazing as the long haired guy. By the time he has finished his tale, Liam, the bartender, has a doting smile on his face.

“That’s Hazza for you,” he chuckles.

Zayn’s ears perk up. “Hazza? That his name?”

Liam turns to him with a knowing little smirk. “Harry Styles, if you must know. He’s a regular here.”

Finally, a name to the face that Zayn thinks will be starring his dreams from now on. Zayn pulls the crumpled tissue from earlier out of his back pocket, balling it and dropping it to the floor. Harry Styles. Someday, Zayn will have to thank Louis for _GC Nights_.


	3. Rock Me (Zayn/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Harry Styles," Zayn hisses. "What the hell where you thinking?! You risked your life for a bloody blue rock."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Person A finds an aesthetically pleasing rock and decides that the only person who deserves to have such a cool rock is Person B. Person B is weirded out by how fond Person A is of the rock but pretends they think it's a beautiful and thoughtful gift.
> 
> Got carried away with the prompt. Hope it's alright x

The very first thing that Zayn notices about Harry when he sees him is that he's flushed and golden, his usually pale skin a healthy-looking shade of tan from his exposure to the sun, no doubt, and his cheeks a darling shade of crimson. Even his hair is glowing, too, a couple of strands lighter than the others. He is standing with his side facing Zayn, tapping his foot against the floor in a rhythm. He looks as if he's waiting for someone, Liam perhaps, checking his wristwatch in intervals. Doing a quick scan of the surroundings and finding Liam to be nowhere in sight when the two of them are supposed to be together, Zayn steps forward, still undetected by the younger lad. He grins and playfully pounces on Harry.

"Boo!"

Harry squawks, dropping the large travelling duffle bag on his shoulders and stumbling a few clumsy steps from the impact. "What--!"

"Welcome home, baby," Zayn greets Harry. Zayn catches sight of wide, delighted green eyes before all six-feet of his young boyfriend attaches himself to him in Harry's very own version of a bear hug.

"Zayn!"

Returning Harry's hug with a tight one of his own, Zayn nuzzles his nose along the column of Harry's neck. He breathes in Harry's scent of clean musk and sunshine before pressing a kiss on the unblemished skin within his reach. He lets Harry go but laces their fingers together. "Did you have fun in Madagascar?"

Harry nods eagerly, his long hair flopping along the movement. "It was great!"

"Where's Liam?"

A hand settles itself on Zayn's shoulder and squeezes. "I'm here, mate," Liam answers. He steps on Zayn's line of sight with that crinkly-eyed smile of his and waves, looking as golden as Harry does. The two of them must have soaked up as much sunlight as they could in their trip, then.

Liam picks up his own carry on and slings it over his shoulder. Harry does the same but struggles a bit with his other hand still locked against Zayn's. He hums in triumph when he is finally able to shrug the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "Let's go?" he asks Zayn and Liam.

Liam nods. "Yeah, mate." He pushes the airport trolley containing his and Harry's luggage, heading towards the exit.

The couple follows Liam, their intertwined hands swinging as they walked. Outside the airport, they are greeted by Louis and Niall's identical shit-eating grins. In each of their hands are Liam and Harry's complete names written in separate sheets of paper. Liam bursts out laughing when he sees the signs.

"Wankers!" he yells, oblivious to the scowling mother, who had to cover her son's ears from Liam's language, fuming beside him.

Harry chuckles as well, squeezing Zayn's hand. "Are you in on that?" he asks his boyfriend, amused.

"Nah, couldn't be bothered," Zayn laughs. "Told them their idea's stupid, but they didn't listen as always."

"Typical Niall and Louis, then."

After a round of welcome back hugs, where Liam and Harry are passed around and squeezed tightly, and brofists, the five friends all pile into Louis' SUV. Liam rides shotgun while Niall, Harry and Zayn are in the backseat. Louis's brand of music is blasting out of the speakers, the chorus of Fleetwood Mac's Gypsy providing their ride's background music.

They have just hit the main road when Harry suddenly hands Zayn a medium-sized rock. Zayn stares at it in surprise.

"Haz, what?"

Curious, Niall and Liam both turn to watch the couple. Even Louis lifts his gaze off the road for a couple of seconds, watching them from the rearview mirror.

"Isn't it pretty?" Harry responds. He is smiling widely, obviously quite pleased. He reaches out and runs his fingers on the grooves and lines of the rock. "Found it when Li and I went near this mining site."

Liam hums from his spot in front. "H went through alot to get that rock. Even has the bloody bruises to prove it."

Alarmed, Zayn starts scanning Harry's face and arms for said bruises. He drops the rock on his lap and uses his hands to feel Harry's head for any bumps. "What happened?" he asks, worried, seeing as Harry can be a bit of a hazard even to himself.

Harry laughs and swats Zayn's wandering hands away. He picks up the rock and places it gently on Zayn's palm. "It's fine, love," he murmurs. "I'm alright. Liam's exaggerating."

"I'm really not, mate."

Zayn, upon realizing that Harry will keep on denying and deflecting his questions, decide to turn to Liam for answers. "What happened?" he repeats.

Liam looks deep in thought for a moment, recalling the event in his mind, probably. "Alright, so. Haz and I were walking around this mining site, yeah? I was taking pictures of the abandoned equipment and sending them to my mum when I hear Harry calling for me. I joined him near this little ditch and he kept on blabbering about a pretty rock that he absolutely has to get for Zayn."

"Hey," Harry whines, affronted. "I did not blabber."

Liam shrugs and Zayn takes this opportunity to give Harry a look of disappointment. Harry's smile falls and he starts fidgeting in his seat while Niall snorts.

"I was thinking about how we can get the rock to shut him up, because it is wedged between these other rocks, when the next thing I know, H here is rolling down the little slope," Liam sounds mildly panicked. Zayn thinks there is still some residual fear in his friend that came from seeing Harry roll down a ditch. "Harry slowed down to a stop at the foot of the ditch and  then, almost like nothing happened, he suddenly stood up, raised his hand in the air, clutching that bloody igneous rock like a fucking trophy or summat."

"Harry Styles," Zayn hisses. "What the hell where you thinking?! You risked your life for a bloody blue rock."

Harry seems to shrink in on himself, his head down and his broad shoulders slouched. "It's a cool rock, Zayn," he mutters weakly. "When I saw it I knew I just had to have it and give it to you."

Harry looks down at the discarded little rock on his lap and picks it up. Zayn studies this tiny piece of Earth that his boyfriend risked his limbs for just to give to him. The rock is roughly as big as Zayn's palm with the bottom part a solid gray color; typical rock features. What sets it out apart from other rocks that Zayn has seen is that it seems to catch light and reflect it back with its shiny, blue surface. Overall, it is a pretty cool rock, but not worth losing an arm or dying over.

Harry continues explaining himself. "It's kind of like an art? But, like, natural and not man-made. It's you, Zayn. In rock form."

The three other occupants of the SUV burst out in merry laughter. Niall is red-faced by now, totally amused. Zayn tries not to pay them any mind.

"Oh, Hazza," he sighs, equal parts weirded out, fond and exasperated. He realizes with a twinge in his chest that Harry thinks of him even through the smallest of things and as insignificant as this rock may seem, Harry's first thought was to give it to Zayn, even at the cost of his injuring his body. Zayn picks up the rock and shoves it inside his jacket pocket. "Thanks for the rock."

Louis, Liam and Niall continue laughing. Harry, on the other hand, is immune to the mocking and merely smiles, eyes round with hope. "Yeah?" he says.

"It's a rather unconventional...souvenir," Zayn pauses again, considering his words. "But, I like it, nonetheless. It's very thoughtful of you, babe."

A beaming grin is Harry's response. He preens in delight, chest puffed out, with the knowledge that his boyfriend likes his gift. "I'm glad you liked it. It's an awesome rock, don't you think so? Very pretty."

Louis guffaws, unashamed. "Why don't you give it a name, Z?" he teases, winking when Zayn scowls at him through the rearview mirror. Liam squeaks out a "Eyes on the fucking road, Louis!" when he almost swerves out of the asphalt and onto the pavement.

Niall, blissfully ignorant of the events, chants loudly, "Name it! Name it!"

Liam, who has recovered enough from the earlier accident scare, says in a sage-like tone of voice, "It'd be rude not to, Zayn."

In a fit of childish anger, Zayn kicks the back of Louis's seat. The bastard. "Fine, I'll name the bloody rock."

Harry raises his hand in the air, his fingers touching the roof of the SUV. "I've got one."

"It better not be Rocky, Haz."

"But, Louis--"

"I'll end you, Styles."

"Shut up!"

"Z2," Zayn interrupts the growing feud. "The rock's name is Z2."

Liam nods his approval. "Cool name, lad."

Begrudgingly, Louis agrees along with Niall. "Ace rock naming skills, Zayner," the blond says, sincere.

A hand grabs Zayn's and locks their fingers together with a squeeze. "Z2. I like it."

"Good." Zayn uses his free hand to pinch the meaty part of Harry's thigh. "When we go home, you're going to show me those bruises, cuts and scrapes of yours to ice and treat them, alright?"

"Yes, Sir. Understood, Sir." Harry adds a mock salute to that, the cheeky thing, pressing two fingers against his forehead with a grin.

Zayn is in love with an idiot, really.

 


	4. Did You Know? (Zayn/Harry, slight Calvin Harris/Taylor Swift)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From: Taylor Sailor  
> To: Hairy Styles
> 
> Did you know that the skin on a guy's elbow is the same texture as their scrotum? Also, red lips and black hair. Have fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a post on tumblr. Hope you like it x

"Harry."

"Hazza."

"Haz!"

"Psst."

"H!"

"What!"

Annoyed, Harry turns his head to the side, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from his sudoku puzzle, which is coming along quite marvelously if he does say so himself, to look at his friend, Taylor. Harry sees her blue eyes alight with mischief, shudders, knowing what that type of smile on her face means, and nearly groans out loud. He doesn't, though, because 1) other students, who are doing some last minute cramming, will get angry, considering the nice state of quiet that has enveloped the usually chatter-filled, favorite café of theirs and 2) that is embarrassing especially when a hot guy across from you is giving you appreciative looks and you do not want him to think of you as an idiot.

The guy catches Harry's eyes and smiles widely, the corner of his eyes crinkling sweetly. In turn, Harry's cheeks turn bright red and he hurriedly looks away, focusing his gaze on Taylor. "I was about a number away from finishing my sudoku, Taylor."

Taylor snorts and leans over to write a 9 in the very last empty square on Harry's puzzle. Harry's eyes widen to saucers and, this time, he actually moans out loud in defeat. His earlier assumption about the cafe customers is proven right when the dead-looking students from a couple of tables around them send him heated glares because of his outburst. Harry squeaks out an embarrassed apology, shrinks in his seat and refuses to glance at the black-haired handsome man's direction, fearing the worst.

"You're a drama queen, you know that?" Taylor muses, licking the cream cheese frosting off of her fork. She then takes a sip of her peppermint mocha.

Harry kicks her shin. He receives a rather vicious one in return. Bloody hell, he thinks, Taylor's stiletto heels might have actually poked a hole in his leg. That hurt!

"And you're a mean woman. I wanted to write that last number and you know it."

"I do," Taylor agrees. "Does not always mean I'd let you, though. Anyway." She grins and stretches across the table to whisper, "Harry, there's this hot guy, perfect 10, on your right. 4 o'clock with the facial hair."

It's the one checking him out, Harry realizes with a start. He feels his cheeks warm up with blood. "I'm not looking for anything right now, T. I told you."

Taylor frowns, a crease forming between her thin, blonde eyebrows. She picks up her music sheets and her sketchbook full of lyrics and poetry, laying them on her lap. "Is this still about Liam? Because if it is then I am totally going to hottie's table and giving your number to him. Better yet, I'll switch tables with him. His companion is rather gorgeous."

The caramel macchiato that Harry has just drank came flying out of his mouth in a splutter, staining and drenching Harry's finished sudoku and half-eaten chicken salad. It's a good thing that Taylor has her things clutched in her hands or else they would've been in direct line of the coffee as well.

Taylor scrunches her face, half-concerned and half-disgusted. She walks to the counter to ask for a rag or something to clean up with and an employee, who has been giving her moon eyes since the beginning of their visits to the café, volunteers to wipe their table down for them.

As the guy, Calvin, his nametag says, cleans up Harry's mess, Taylor decides to take pity on her friend and stop teasing him so much. She stands behind him and rubs his back with a gentle hand. "Sorry, H," she apologizes. "I just wanted you to get a move on, you know? I don't like seeing you like this."

"I am moving on," Harry insists, firmly to the point of demanding. Well, he is, trying to move past Liam's rejection, that is.

After the barista finished wiping the table, Taylor sits back down on her seat. She glances at someone from her left side and smiles at the person from the table. Harry does not bother checking to see who it is. He pulls two books out of his bag and opens it to where a bookmark is hanging out.

"Do you ever look at somebody and wonder how they moan during sex?"

Harry's pen slips out of his fingers and drop to the floor. He grimaces when he sees it roll and disappear. "You owe me a new pen," he tells Taylor and adds, "Also, no. What the hell, Taylor?"

Taylor looks unrepentant, shrugging, and hands Harry a sparkly yellow pen with a crown glued on top of the cap. "It's a legit thought of mine, Harry."

Harry gives her a dull look and scribbles something down on his notebook. Despite its flamboyant outer appearance, the pen is actually black and Harry feels oddly satisfied when it glides on smoothly against the sheet of paper.

"I'm serious," Taylor adds. She turns her head to the left again and winks at the fit guy checking Harry out. The oblivious Harry carries on with his studying. "Like, when I first met you on that mixer, freshman year, I wondered how you sound when you have sex. I figured you'd be a screamer, loud and whiny and demanding."

Harry's blushes hard, his cheeks and the tips of his ears a brilliant red. "Thanks for forcing your habit upon me, Taylor Alison Swift. Now, I'll be weird like you when I go out."

Taylor is indignant, a slight pout on her red-stained lips. "I'm not weird. Just naturally curious and observant and that's what makes a potential songwriter."

Harry nods. "True," he mutters, more to himself. Honestly, he has tons of knowledge about disturbing, sexually charged facts and thinks that maybe he can use them to his advantage against Taylor. It'll be quite nice to see her squirm for a change. "Well, if you insist on giving me thoughts like this, did you know that the color of a man's lips is the same color as the tip of his penis?"

"Oh god," Taylor whines. She stares at Harry's pouty, pink lips and imagines the tip of his dick having the same color. Oh, no. Harry is like a brother to her, but damn it, his lips are right there in front of her and she just could not go there, to the thought of his lips and private part sharing the same hue. Then, all the more of a traitor is her filthy mind as she is reminded by Calvin, the barista, and his lips. She shivers a bit and subtly shifts on her seat.

"Also," Harry grins at her, his green eyes glittering with amusement and playful teasing. "Eyebrow hair is usually the color of pubes."

A light brown. Shit. The Calvin guy is staring at Taylor from the counter, his light brown eyebrows furrowed in concentration. Taylor imagines a thin dusting of light brown hair from the barista's navel down to his - okay, no. Stop. Now, is not the time to think about a hot guy's happy trail and pubic hair. Curse Harry and his knowledge of sexual facts.

"You're going to regret this, Harry Styles." With a sudden thought and a smirk, Taylor calmly picks her things up and excuses herself. "I've got to get to class. I'll text you later and let's go to Applebee's for dinner."

Harry - poor, sweet Harry - thinking that he has won their little battle and feeling smug about it, smiles. It's not often that he has one point over Taylor Swift. She's wickedly witty. "Let's do that," he agrees. "Text me when you reach your class, yeah?"

"Yes, _mother_."

With a kiss to Harry's cheek, Taylor leaves. Unbeknownst to Harry, she has stopped on her way and took the liberty in introducing herself to the guy that has the obvious hots for Harry. He's alone now so it's easier to approach him. She whispers something in his ear and he nods, his golden gaze focused on Harry. Taylor bids him a goodbye and leaves the coffee shop with a spring to her step. She pulls her mobile out and texts Harry.

_From: Taylor Sailor_   
_To: Hairy Styles_

_Did you know that the skin on a guy's elbow is the same texture as their scrotum? Also, red lips and black hair. Have fun!_

Harry is startled when someone occupies the chair that Taylor has just vacated. He looks at the newcomer, sees the tattoos first, the sick half-sleeve and the intricate mandala, and then his gaze travels up, towards the sculpted facial hair, plump lips, pierced nose, sharp cheekbones, almond-shaped eyes with bright amber irises and, lastly, the artfully messy silver hair.

Alarms go off in Harry's head. Suddenly, Taylor is inside his head, ticking off the fit guy's attractive qualities in her pretty little fingers: kissable red lips and beautiful eyes on a perfectly proportioned, very handsome face; go for it, Haz!

"Erm."

The handsome lad grins, the same sweet smile that he gave Harry earlier. "Hi, I'm Zayn," he introduces himself, a hand out for Harry to shake.

"I'm Harry." Harry shakes Zayn's hand. "It's nice to meet you, Zayn."

"Pleasure's all mine, love," Zayn says with a wink. He eyes Harry's thick books and sparkly pen with amusement. "Finals week?"

Harry grins, loosening a bit. "Yeah."

"I'm on my last year, Art," Zayn tells him. Now that Harry is informed, he finally notices the satchel perched on Zayn's shoulder.

"I've got one more year to finish my Psychology degree."

"That's cool."

Harry nods. He studies Zayn's face, taking note of his big eyes and strong eyebrows-

Oh.

"Red lips and black hair."

"What was that?"

Red-faced, Harry tries his best to not think of Zayn's private parts while telling him, "It's nothing, Zayn. I was just, erm, remembering a conversation. Earlier. Yeah. Umm."

Zayn lights up. "Probably the one with your mate? The tall blonde girl?"

"You know her?"

"She actually gave me confidence to talk to you."

If it's possible, Harry's cheeks turn even redder. Oh, man. Taylor did live up to her earlier threat. It all makes sense now, Harry thinks. Her text message, her urgent need to leave, the smiles and looks that she has done earlier.

Crap.

"Hey, Harry," Zayn calls to get his attention. He looks halfway out of his chair, ready to leave, probably to give Harry some space. "I can leave if you, uh, want me to."

"I-"

"It's just. I want to get to know you? I've seen you here for a couple of times already and I always look forward for more. You, erm, inspire me. I look at you and your smiles and wonder if you glow on the inside as much as the outside. I'm sorry if that's creepy-"

Harry stares at Zayn, dumbfounded. "I inspire you?"

Zayn stops rambling, cheeks pinking. "Yeah, umm. My mates tease me about it. But, I, uh, have sketches of you."

"Then," Harry smiles widely, heart racing. This isn't such a bad idea after all. "Stay, Zayn."

"Alright." Zayn's eyes are hopeful, his smile relieved.

"My last name's Styles, by the way. What's yours, Zayn?"

Harry may wonder how Zayn moans during sex, what the color of his pubic hair is or if his reddish lips share the same hue as the tip of his penis, but he thinks, it doesn't matter anymore, because this feels like it could work. The two of them feel a bit magical, a work of fate's hands and Harry would like to believe that he'll be hearing and seeing the real sounds and things in the near future, maybe even more, like what Zayn's face look like in the deepness of a slumber or in the weak early morning sunlight through the gaps of the curtains.

This is a promise and Harry cannot wait for what's more to come.  
  


 


	5. This Is Serious (Zayn/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn sighs exasperatedly and tightens his arms around Harry. This day is so bloody exhausting and it isn't halfway done yet. "I'm sorry," he coos against the other's ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is based on a prompt over at otpprompts on tumblr: Person A and Person B are in a heated argument. Mid-argument, Person A starts to get the hiccups and Person B is trying their best not to laugh.

"What the fuck are you on about, H?"

Harry's usually wide eyes narrow in annoyance, his nostrils flaring as he readies to fight to get his point across. "You tell me, Zayn," he scoffs, pushing the hair that has fallen over his eyes away. He gives his fiancé an unimpressed look, lips pulled back slightly in a snarl and his arms crossed over his chest in defiance. "Perrie was hanging on you all night, trying to climb you like a bloody monkey on a tree!"

Zayn, bless his heart, counts up to five in his head to calm down. It wouldn't help any if he gets as worked up as Harry over something so petty. "For the last time, Harry, Pez was drunk," he says patiently. He sighs softly and runs a hand through his hair. "She meant nothing of it. I doubt she even remembers what she did."

"You don't know that! They say a person is in their most honest state when they are drunk. You, of all people, should know that, Zayn."

Oh, Zayn thinks belatedly, Harry is pissed. Zayn is sure of it now. Last night, after dropping an intoxicated Perrie in her apartment, Harry has been unusually quiet, merely mumbling a sulky good night before seemingly falling into a deep sleep. Zayn thought nothing of it in his exhaustion and kissed the back of the younger man's neck before succumbing to slumber. Looking at it now, Zayn thinks that was one of his dumb moments, letting Harry stew in his anger. Harry is normally quick to forgive and forget if someone does him wrong and apologizes for it. However, get on his bad side, allow for anger to take root and the boy will give you hell for it. Zayn has actually believed that he might be an exception to this rule but right now, as he has the unfortunate pleasure of experiencing this 'hell' firsthand, he isn't so sure of anything anymore.

This argument has been going on for the longest time, has started the moment Zayn's feet has touched the cold hardwood of their kitchen floor and not once has the younger boy used his nicknames for Zayn to address him, which only meant one thing.

This is serious.

"What do you even want me to say, Haz?" Zayn mumbles tiredly, aching for a cup of coffee and Harry's warm body snuggled against his. "It's too fucking early for this."

At his lover's defeated tone, Harry looks guilty for a second before he hurriedly puts on a scowl. Despite his obvious annoyance, the younger man grabs Zayn's mug, angrily pouring him a cup of coffee. He jerkily stirs a teaspoon of sugar and some milk in it before pushing it towards Zayn. The hot liquid splashes on the side of the mug and Zayn gratefully picks it up, taking a small sip.

"Nothing's too early for your future husband, don't you think, Zayn?" Harry sneers as he slathers butter on a piece of toast. He stacks them up high, puts a perfectly cooked sunny side up egg and sausages on the side and then pushes the plate to land infront of Zayn. "I am merely asking for an explanation of last night's questionable turn of events."

Zayn's own eyes narrow in turn and he shakes his head slowly. "You're mental."

"Well, excuse me for being jealous of my fiancé and his ex-girlfriend basically dry humping each other right in front of my bloody eyes!" Harry says, voice raised. He slams a hand down the table with a loud clap, upsetting the contents on top of it. "If that is the only indicator of being crazy, I'd gladly let you put me in with the nutters."

"Harry," Zayn grits out in warning. He wants to stay calm, really, but with the way Harry is almost intentionally provoking him, he's losing the battle. Zayn does not take too lightly when a person gives him a bad time for something he absolutely has no idea of doing.

Harry stares at Zayn with a tiny smirk, a glint of challenge in his pretty eyes. He leans close to Zayn's face. "What, Zayn? Do you want me to go and fetch Perrie for you? Place her on your lap and watch as you two snog?"

"Stop it, H."

"Maybe you want to finish what you've started last night, yeah?"

Zayn stands up abruptly, knocking his chair back violently. He breathes out harshly, glaring heatedly at his fiancé. "Shut the fuck up, Harry!"

Harry gets up to his full height, shoving Zayn slightly. "Don't be daft! Just admit that you liked what Perrie was doing last night and only then will I shut up."

Liam, who has just gotten home from his morning jog, takes one peek inside the kitchen before fleeing to the safety of his room. Zayn and Harry's fights tend to get very loud and emotionally taxing that he'd rather wait out his hunger than step foot inside the currently chosen war zone.

Zayn looks absolutely gobsmacked. "What the hell? Harry, are you on some shit? The fuck are you talking about?"

Harry's bottom lip quivers and he takes in a deep breath. A series of different emotions cross his face: frustration, jealousy and annoyance. "You're so dense! Perrie still likes you!"

Zayn snorts, rolling his eyes. He has noticed that since Perrie is pretty obvious about it. It isn't a problem, though. Zayn is so gone for a certain bright, curly-haired lad. No one else compares to Harry Styles. "So?"

"She's going to take you away from me! She has started last night and you weren't even doing anything to stop her," Harry accuses, pushing a hand in his hair and messing it up more. "The way I see it, s'like you're soaking up the attention she's giving you."

"You're so immature," Zayn grumbles, trying in vain to keep the fondness out of his voice. Ah, he thinks, so this is what all of this is about: jealousy. Harry never did wear jealousy well. The possessive brat. Zayn takes a step forward, intent on closing the distance between his and Harry's body. Stubbornly, Harry steps back.

"Fuck you, Zayn," Harry fires back, knowing it will rile Zayn up. There is nothing in this whole world that Zayn hates more than someone cussing him. Harry, for the life of him, doesn't know why but he wants this argument to last.

Predictably, Zayn bristles, glare back in full force. "Harry, I suggest you shut up before I force you to do something else with that mouth of yours."

Harry opens his mouth to retort when a loud sound, that he least expects to, comes out instead. _Hic!_

Both sporting wide-eyed looks, the heated tension in the room suddenly drops and the lovers freeze mid-argument. Harry's expression of fury is steadily making way to one of sheer embarrassment while Zayn's glare turn to a fight of swallowing peals of his laughter.

Harry recovers fast and with glowing red cheeks, warns, trying to be as threatening as possible given his case of the hiccups, "Don't... _hic_...you... _hic_...fucking dare... _hic_...laugh!"

Zayn, by now, has a hand over his stomach, clutching the fabric of his t-shirt tightly as he struggles to contain his merry laughter. A few chuckles escape the confines of his bitten lower lip and they push Harry's blush from his cheeks down his neck and to the tips of his ears.

_Hic!_

"Stop it!"

_Hic!_

With a start, Zayn lets out a bark of laughter while Harry hiccups and pouts at him. "You're..."

_Hic!_

"...mean."

Calming down a bit, Zayn quickly takes Harry in his arms, holding him tightly. He rubs his nose on the side of Harry's neck, nuzzling the younger man, who weakly fights his advances with half-hearted shoves and grumbles mixed with hiccups. He chuckles louder when he feels him jolt with another hiccup.

"My poor baby has the hiccups," he murmurs softly, running a hand down Harry's back.

Harry squirms against Zayn's hold, trying to get free as he is still determined to get an apology for what happened last night.

Zayn sighs exasperatedly and tightens his arms around Harry. This day is so bloody exhausting and it isn't halfway done yet. "I'm sorry," he coos against the other's ear. "I'm sorry I let Perrie drape herself all over me last night. To be quite honest, I'm properly knackered when we went out to the club that I'm kinda out of it. I was so sleepy that I barely noticed my surroundings."

Harry hiccups in an amusing cadence, seemingly his response and his encouragement for Zayn to go on and explain. Zayn is suddenly struck with how much he loves the man that he is currently holding in his arms, wondering in the back of his mind how will he ever go on with his life if one day Harry disappears.

"Meri jaan," he whispers sincerely, kissing the small patch of Harry's skin that is exposed to him. "You're all I want. All I need. You're stuck with me until the end of our time here on our Earth. Heck, even beyond that. I will always, always love you."

Harry pulls back from their embrace and he looks utterly pleased, staring at Zayn with tenderness. Zayn decides that, more than anything, he truly despises making Harry upset. Harry smiles softly then, thinks that maybe he can push a full sentence out without hiccuping if he says it silently, and mouths an 'I love...'

_Hic!_

"Damn it!"

_Hic!_

Zayn properly guffaws this time, peppering Harry's face with kisses, completely enamoured with his soon-to-be husband.

"I love..."

_Hic!_

"...you..."

_Hic!_

"...Z."

Yep, this is serious.


	6. Poster Boys (Zayn/Harry)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Moments like these make Zayn wonder how he has managed to stay out of constant imprisonment for so long, having the personification of clumsy itself in the form of his literal partner-in-crime, by his side. "Styles, haven't you learned how to walk like a normal person and not trip on thin air or step on those bloody branches?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, this drabble is inspired by a prompt: Imagine your OTP being criminals and seeing their wanted posters. Person A takes pride in how high their bounty is, while Person B is upset because their's is much lower than Person A.

Moments like these make Zayn wonder how he has managed to stay out of constant imprisonment for so long, having the personification of clumsy itself in the form of his literal partner-in-crime, by his side. "Styles, haven't you learned how to walk like a normal person and not trip on thin air or step on those bloody branches?"

"Key. I told you to address me as Key, Lock," aforementioned clumsy in human shell says, distracted, before his ridiculously chunky boots accidentally step on another fallen tree branch, wincing again at the loud crunching sound that follows. He gives his partner a sheepish little smile. "Terribly sorry. That. I...It won't happen again."

Zayn smacks a hand to his forehead and sighs quietly. What a load of lies, he thinks to himself. He lifts his gaze and stares at his partner intensely until the latter starts squirming before looking away and walking forward. He hears heavy footsteps following him closely.

They walk in relative silence and Zayn has to thank his lucky stars for that, for clearing their path of twigs and branches, which were quite the danger to the two of them considering the taller of the two's penchant for stepping on them. Zayn snatches a handful of wild berries on their way, stowing them in his pocket.

"Harry, why do you insist on calling me lock?" he asks after a while just to pass time.

Behind him, there is a rather long pause and a thoughtful hum, then, "Well, it is your alias? I remind you, time and time again, that we cannot go around addressing each other by our birth name as it--Heavens above!"

Zayn rolls his eyes when he hears a dull thud and a soft cry of pain. He turns around, sees his partner sprawled on the muddy ground and crouches down. Not a surprise. "Key," he mocks rather cruelly, earning a disgruntled moan from Harry. "I reckon 'Dew-beater' should fit you just as well."

Harry gives him a dull look and violently pulls on his arm to heave himself up. Zayn, in turn, ends up on his butt with a hiss. "Wanker."

Loud laughter echoes through the forest and then a hand is suddenly infront of Zayn's face, close enough that looking at it causes Zayn to go cross-eyed. Nonetheless, he grabs it and hauls himself up. "Be quiet. You're going to get us caught!"

"I'm sorry, Lock," Harry whispers, grasping Zayn's face in his muddy hands and looking deeply in his eyes. Zayn stares back. Harry stops after a couple of minutes, smiling.

"As I was saying, you must always call me 'Key' to conceal our identity, Z." There is wonder in Harry's green eyes as he says the next words, "That rhymed!"

"S'not like no one knows us, Harry." This insistence of not using their aliases earns Zayn a shove from Harry. He stumbles a bit and uses the tree behind him to catch his fall. His hand touches wrinkled paper and it makes Zayn turn around, a slow smirk tugging at his lips.

Hammered into the tree's trunk is a 'Wanted' poster, Zayn and Harry, with identical grins, splashed across the surface. Underneath their outdated photos, which were taken during their very first blunder at robbery that ended with them smiling stupidly into the camera, is a bounty so high that Zayn is honestly contemplating turning himself in. Or turning Harry in, whichever works. "You have got to see this, Harry!"

"Quit calling me Harry, Zayn!" Harry protests, momentarily dropping Zayn's alias and walking to where his partner was. He's got mud streaks on his cheeks and leaves in his wild hair and Zayn thinks he has an idea why he is called 'Lock' and Harry is the 'Key'.

"What is it?"

"Our very own Wanted poster," Zayn preens proudly.

Harry nods and runs a finger on a younger looking Zayn's short hair then poking his own cheek. "You look really good in here, Lock."

With a snort, Zayn elbows Harry's side, looking all stern and offended. "Are you implying that I am not good-looking now?" he teases his companion, chuckling when the other stutters through an apology and a denial. "I was just teasing you, mate. Look at that bounty, H."

He expects for his partner to feel as proudly as he did, but once again, based on his current expression alone, Harry pulls the ground beneath Zayn and catches him completely off-guard.

"This is absurd! I am not accepting this!" Harry protests, throwing his hands up in the air.

Bewildered, Zayn's only response is a, "What?"

"How can they be so cruel, Zayn?" Harry asks him with a pout. He sniffs sadly and lowers his gaze to the ground. "I do the same amount of work, but they don't give me the same amount of credit."

"Okay," the older man agrees, because, honestly, Harry is adorable with that pout and Zayn is nothing but helpless to that. "What are you talking about, Haz?"

Harry fixes his gaze on Zayn, eyes wide and sad, looking as though knowing the reasons to his outbursts ought to be common knowledge among Zayn Malik population. "Your bounty is higher than mine."

Zayn stares at Harry, unblinking. The latter bravely stares back in the first minute before hurriedly looking away and crossing his arms over his chest, lower lip caught between his teeth. Such a precious sight if Zayn is pressed to admit.

"You are something, Key," Zayn murmurs, partly awed and incredulous.

Harry turns to give him a wide-eyed, greatly pleased look and beams, seemingly forgetting about his dilemma, "You called me Key."

Zayn feels heat creeping on his cheeks and huffs. "Well yeah, it is your alias, after all."

"You hate it."

"No, I do not."

"No, I guess not."

"You agree?"

"You loathe it."

"Wanker."

Harry laughs merrily and grabs a bunch of wild berries from his pocket. The small fruits look suspiciously like the ones that Zayn got earlier. He then crushes them in his hand and proceeds to dip his finger into the resulting liquid.

"I still cannot believe your bounty is bigger than mine," the younger of the two says matter-of-factly. He creeps closer to the poster on the tree and pokes at the space on the side of poster Zayn's nose, giving him a rather large, reddish mole. Harry cackles.

"Ruining my poster face as revenge for getting a higher bounty, I see. I wonder how you sleep at night, mate."

Harry gives poster Zayn a curly red moustache, replies, "Like a newborn, Zayn."

"What ever happened to not calling each other by our birth names, huh? Harry Edward Styles?" Zayn scoffs, imitating Harry's actions and drawing long curly locks on poster Harry's shorter hair.

"I do not recall ever telling you my second name, Zayn Javadd Malik," Harry replies cheekily, bumping his hips against Zayn's. "I'm flattered you liked me enough to know."

Zayn wants to tell him he likes him well enough to share his heart, spill all his secrets and fears, bare himself open. He doesn't, though. Not yet. "You tell me alot when you've had too many ale, my friend."

"I figured."

Zayn grins to himself. Harry and him? They still have a lot of time to spend together, anyway. The grand confessions will come soon enough.

By now, Harry is adding the finishing touches to his face on the poster. Zayn shakes his head fondly when he sees triangular-shaped eyeglasses over Harry's eyes and tons of facial hair on his.

"We should get going, Harry," Zayn informs his companion, looking up to see the sky turning darker. "You know it's hard to find a place to set up camp when it's dark."

Harry nods and scribbles something into the poster. Once done, he wipes his hands down his already dirty shirt. He grabs Zayn's wrist, dragging him away, rambling. "If you simply must know, Lock, I think the aliases that I have chosen for us is brilliant! I am the key to your lock, don't you think so?"

Zayn laughs without restraint, both from Harry's words and from seeing the suspicious new amount of bounty scribbled underneath Harry Styles' name.


	7. Dilemma Is My Middle Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry thinks this whole mess has started all because of his marriage with an unwilling Zayn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a side story that I have entered as my piece for the competition that an author had for her story. The Zarry fanfiction is published on wattpad and it's titled "Dear Future Husband". While it may be good that you read that story first before this one, it is not necessarily required because this is a stand-alone. Enjoy x

That's it, Harry thinks forcefully as he eyes himself in the mirror, I'm going to go see a doctor.

He has just finished washing out the acidic aftertaste left of another session of what he likes to call as 'Morning Puking Time', which, frankly, has left him weak in the knees. He clutches the sink with both hands and stares hard at his reflection, noting how pale he has become over the past week. Because he hasn't been sleeping all that well, either, his under eye circles are now so dark and prominent, a stark contrast to his pallid complexion, that he fears people will think of him as a walker.

Right. Walker Harry. Curse Niall for introducing that addictive series to him.

Heaving himself out of the bathroom, Harry takes the short journey to his bedroom. He plops down onto his bed, sprawled out, and picks up his phone to place a call to their family doctor. He taps a random beat on the bed while waiting for the clinic assistant to pick up, his nerves on high alert. After the third ring, a familiar, cheerful voice filters through the line, asking how she can help Harry. Harry knows her, Jade Thirlwall, the daughter of his physician. They have been friends since they were little but he remembers saying goodbye to her a few years back, having been informed that she was flying to the US to study medicine. He hasn't seen her since then, not even a hi or hello passing between them through their many social media accounts. Harry doesn't know that she's back, bitterly thinking that it is probably because of this whole mess with Zayn. It has occupied his previously tranquil life.

He sighs to himself before he greets Jade, makes a bit of a small talk and then schedules an appointment for the next day at around 1 in the afternoon. He kindly tells Jade to change his surname into Malik and he swears he hears the question as it pops into her mind. He mentally prepares to give his automatic answer when she asks but to his surprise, his friend merely complies, confirming the appointment and Harry thanks her sincerely before hanging up.

Harry stares into thin air, thinking. He has come to a sudden realization. If Zayn only wants to be friends with him then maybe it is time that Harry sucks it up and continues living his life like before. To start off his new resolve, he makes a promise to invite Jade out for coffee sometime, to catch up on their different lives. That'll work.

Later that day, Harry lays on the couch, napping. He is exhausted, having done a thorough house cleaning after he has seen a horrific pile of curly hair on the corner of his bedroom. Light snores fill the living room as Harry peacefully travels the realm of dreams. A couple of seconds later, the front door clicks open and a familiar figure steps inside quietly. Zayn locks the door behind himself before making his way to the kitchen, bags of food hanging on his arms. He turns his head as he goes through the hallway, spots the couch with the dozing Harry and pauses, staring fondly at the sight of his flushed cheeks and the way they are smushed against the cushion. The younger man squirms slightly and snuffles into the couch cushion, the tiny noise enough to snap Zayn out of his stupor.

"Stop it," Zayn scolds himself softly as he backs out of the living room and continues to his real destination. "You both are better off without each other."

While it is sad that such is the case between the two of them, Zayn has to admit that this whole mess would have been avoided if he wasn't such a coward.

As silently as possible, Zayn works in unpacking the bags that he has brought, unveiling the random food items that he has read from Harry's tweets during the past few days and feeling ashamed that he has resorted to social media to know how his 'husband' is doing.

_@harrystyles: craving for onion bagels and nutella and strawberries and banana. yum!_

_@harrystyles: where can i get pudding around here?_

_@harrystyles: anybody tried putting caramel sauce on your onion rings? they're delicious wow_

_@harrystyles: mmm crunchy pickles dipped in vanilla ice cream sounds so good rn_

_@harrystyles: @niall_horan pls buy me those tiny donuts rolled in cinnamon sugar?_

_@harrystyles: i feel so crappy these past few days! hope i'm not getting down with anything._

_@harrystyles: why isn't nialler answering me?_

_@harrystyles: @niall_horan heeeeeeeeey! hey hey hey hey_

_@harrystyles: nando's @niall_horan_

_@niall_horan: tf haz?! it's 6 am on a sunday. leave me alone and bother sum1 else you tosser @harrystyles_

_@harrystyles: sorry i just rly rly rly want those donuts :( @niall_horan_

_@niall_horan: go back to sleep and i'll buy you those donuts later!_

_@harrystyles: u're the very best mate!_

Zayn tries not to burn with jealousy but it is really hard when his husband turns to someone else for help. He knows his jealousy is irrational, Niall is Harry's best friend, has been for a very long time, yet he couldn't help it even if he tried. Harry is his, to love, to help, to pamper. And although they are not on the very best terms right now, Zayn vows to do his best to care for Harry.

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

This is not happening!

Harry thinks he might throw up, pass out in his own pool of bodily fluids or run as far away as possible from this country, maybe change his identity as well, start a new life.

In the waiting area of the clinic, he shakily lowers himself onto one of the hard plastic chairs, breathing heavily. He shakes his head furiously and drops his eyes to stare at the test results that Jade has handed to him earlier. He glares at it, wanting it to burn and disappear. This is all some sort of a mistake, right? Maybe they gave him the wrong envelope--No. The sealed parcel has his name stamped on it, meaning it is for him.

But, how in the world?

Pregnant?

High levels of human Chorionic Gonadotropin?

Positive?

He can't be pregnant. He is not 8 weeks pregnant. No.

What a cruel joke.

However, as he stares a hole into the list of findings in his blood and urine samples, it is getting harder to convince himself of the opposite. He swallows the lump in his throat, eyes blurry with unshed tears as another thought occurs.

How will he tell Zayn?

 

 

 

 

**

 

 

 

 

It has been 3 days since Harry learned of the life that is growing inside him. It has also been 3 whole days of him shutting the outside world and staying holed up inside his flat. During his self-imposed exile, he has established a routine, which is fairly simple: wake up, puke, eat a bunch of weirdly combined foods, watch tv, shower, eat some more, ignore messages and phone calls, sleep and then repeat. A lot of times, Zayn or Niall has banged on his front door, demanding to be let in, but ultimately refused. They gave up after their last attempt, both of them present, when Harry told them to get lost and never come back.

Harry knows he is being childish about the whole thing but he thinks he shouldn't be blamed. Not when he is a pregnant man, who is unwanted by his very own husband. He deserves a reprieve, to throw a strop, to get mad at everything, but in reality, he is only sad, exhausted. He feels weighed down, heavy and worthless. It's no wonder Zayn has let go of him so easily. He's no precious gem, merely an insignificant rock, while Zayn is fucking gold, silver and diamond combined.

Utterly beautiful and untouchable.

Harry and Zayn? They can never be together. Not in this lifetime and perhaps even the ones coming.

Pulled out of his musings when his stomach grumbles out of hunger, Harry realizes he needs to get out and do some grocery shopping. He tenderly rubs a hand over his tiny baby bump, a melancholic smile on his lips. It's funny how, now that he is aware of the little human inside of him, he can finally see the changes to his body. He will be lying if he says they do not bother him, like the growing pudge on his midsection or the tenderness of his nipples, but he thinks they are alright. It is no big deal, as long as the changes mean he can prepare himself to care for his child. His child, Harry feels his heart flutter at that. A life that he has helped created and one that he should cherish.

And so today, on his fourth day of acknowledging his child's existence, inside the womb that he was not informed he has, he will go out and feed himself properly. Starting now, he will cease to be childish and self-centered. He will put his unborn child's life above his own.

Harry takes a quick shower and hurries to bundle himself up, choosing to layer his favorite grey peacoat on top of his black shirt and black skinny jeans (unbuttoned, so his baby can breathe) ensemble. He wraps a dark blue scarf on his neck loosely and runs a hand through his hair to push it aside, too lazy to bother with hair styling. He pockets his phone, wallet and keys before pulling on his most trusted boots. He gets out of his house and locks the door behind himself.

He leisurely walks to his car, enjoying the freshness of the environment because he has been camping out in his stuffy flat for the last three days. He takes a long drag of the crisp air and feels relaxed, a small smile on his face, a genuine one this time.

"Where the hell have you been?!"

Shit. Zayn.

Harry stops in his tracks, eyes as wide as they can be. He sees Zayn walk closer to him, an angry expression on his handsome face. Normally, he would have matched all that fire in his husband's eyes with his own, but now, as he puts a protective hand over his tummy, he also takes a step back.

"You got me worried sick, you moron! What the hell is your problem? You disappeared! Where were you? Why aren't you answering my calls?"

"I-"

"You better have a legitimate excuse for missing out on our families' dinner gatherings or you are truly going to get it from me, Styles."

Harry glares at Zayn, all false bravado because deep inside he is proper panicking.

How in the world will he tell Zayn Malik that he is pregnant with their child?!


	8. Butterfly Weed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Styles and his struggles of loving an unknowing Zayn Malik.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This plot is something that I've been toying with for a long time now. I've been in a rather melancholic Zarry mood (probably my subconscious telling me to update Forget Me Not) and I've been imagining angst-filled Zarry stories all the time. So yeah. I hope you liked this. Tell me what you think x

Louis Tomlinson watches as his friend quietly falls apart in his house, right on top of his spanking new couch. Curled up against the dark grey leather surface, struggling to shed tears without any noise, suddenly the tall lad looks small and oh so vulnerable. It is quite the disheartening sight to see and Louis just itches to take the younger boy in his arms, give him sympathy or console him perhaps, but controls himself not to, for he is trying to make a point in this seemingly routinary argument between the two of them.

"When will you try to actually _move on_ from him, Harry?" The older of the two lads patiently repeats while checking the newly arrived message on his phone. It's from his mum, asking if he's still taking that plus one, which he has promised a week ago, to their weekly family dinner. As he types a reply to Jay, he is met with silence from his companion. He lifts his head and sighs once he catches the boy laying motionless on the couch, eyes wide and unfocused. "Harry."

"Maybe if I were a girl, he'd notice me," Harry murmurs to himself. He sounds like he's convincing his heart and mind of that possibility.

"You don't know that for sure," Louis argues. Giving up, he stands up and crosses his living room to sit down beside his ailing friend. He gets his free hand on Harry's back, rubbing it gently to, hopefully, soothe him some. "Listen, Harry. You know I don't believe in those fate and soulmates shit, yeah? But, hear me out. I reckon fate is telling you that this is what it is. There is nothing more to this relationship of yours with him other than being mates, so stop expecting because you are only hurting yourself. I know you believe that it's destiny that you got put together in a band so that you may meet him and get to know him then go bonkers over him, but that's just you. To him, you are his best mate, his wingman, even, and it is high time you get that through your head. It's time to move on, love. Please."

Harry squeezes his eyes shut, fists balled up tightly. "It hurts, Louis," he whimpers, lower lip wobbling.

Louis is hyperaware that it is taking a whole lot of self-control for the lad to stop the tears from falling. So he nods, because yes he knows of the pain, and lays down beside his friend. "Just like before."

_"I should've listened to you."_

_Clear green eyes meet glistening gold ones while a pair of arms stretch open, a tempting invite for the offer of an embrace of comfort. The distraught lad willingly folds himself against his best mate's body, sighing._

_"Ssh, everything's going to be alright. You both love each other and you'll work it out like always," the taller lad whispers in response, the words leaving behind trails of poison in his mouth, pressing his cheek against his friend's hair. He closes his eyes, regretting it soon after when the image of a familiar woman forever branded into skin burns behind his eyelids: long blonde hair, bright blue eyes and a wide, saccharine smile. Perrie Edwards._

_Hours later, Harry tries to hide the devastation in his eyes through the warmth of a fake smile as he bids his bandmate a goodbye. He says, "Take all the rest that you need, Zayn. Be a snorlax and sleep! We'll all be here when you get back."_

_He has each and everyone inside the room fooled as they laugh at his lame attempt at humor, all except Louis, because although they've drifted apart amidst the rumors, the blue-eyed lad still knows the cheeky boy well enough to read him. Somehow, he knows that he'll have a private show of tears and pain later tonight._

_He isn't wrong because that night, lost and aching, Harry enters his hotel room right after the notification for Zayn's tweet lights up his phone._

**_I'm 22 years old... I love a girl named Perrie Edwards. And there's a lot of jealous fucks in this world I'm sorry for what it looks like x_ **

As cruel as fate is to one Harry Styles, it doesn't take long for the lad's heart to get mauled for the nth time, unfortunately also by the same person. It has been a quiet night for Harry when Liam calls him up, giddy with the news. The older of the two is wholly unaware of just how deep Harry's affections for Zayn lied and is merely happy for his former bandmates' newfound inspiration.

"Liam, hey," Harry says into the phone as he answers. He has his phone pressed against his shoulder and ear as he opens a bag of baked kale chips and brings it to his bedroom, where an episode of National Geographic channel's _Do or Die_ is playing. He turns the volume down and slips a chip into his mouth, munching it quite loudly.

"Haz, you'll never gonna believe who's papped getting cozy with Gigi Hadid herself."

Liam's genuine happiness is quite contagious, so Harry smiles and humors him. "Who?"

"Our little Zayner, of course," Liam answers proudly, oblivious to the fact that he has just ripped Harry's heart out. He proceeds to stomp on it, then. "I know it seems like he's moving on quite fast, but I reckon this is exactly what he needs after Perrie, you get me? I heard Gigi is nice and funny. Not to mention, extremely pretty. This is good, right? She can help Zayn move past his engagement break up."

There's a massive lump lodged on Harry's throat. He swallows it down with much difficulty, tasting something bitter on his tongue. "I didn't know you've been keeping tabs on Zayn, Liam," he says to his friend, blinking back tears of frustration, pain and failure. He tries for a teasing snicker, but all that comes out is a weak chuckle.

Liam huffs from his end of the line. "Soph was the one who told me about it. She's swore to always be updated on things about Zayn, seeing as the four of us are prideful gits, who are too chicken to reach out to our friend. Just to clarify, those are her words, not mine."

"She's right," Harry forces out with a sniffle. "We are gits. Thank her for me, will you? I'll be sure to brush up on things Zayn Malik tonight."

"Erm, are you okay, Hazza?" Liam questions gently, having caught on to the sniffle and the unmistakable crack in Harry's voice. "You sound off."

Realizing his blunder, Harry hurredly covers himsef up with a laugh. "I'm fine, Leemo. A bit of a scratch on my throat. I've been taking ginger tea and some cough syrup for it so it won't continue to worsen." For good measure, Harry clears his throat obnoxiously.

"Okay then, bye Harry."

"See you, Liam."

That night, Harry has to physically stop himself from downloading the paparazzi shots of Zayn with Gigi in a hotel room into his phone, by hiding the gadget in his closet, beneath his socks. Truth be told, he wants to print them out and hang them over his bed, thinking that they will serve as his brutal reminder that Zayn will never return his affections and is better off not knowing about it. As he tosses and turns in his futile attempts of sleeping, it suddenly dawns on him how much of an idiot he is for not noticing the very obvious sign of Zayn and Gigi's relationship, courtesy of none other than Zayn Malik himself.

**_Harry Styles rolls his eyes at Gigi Hadid. What could this mean? Is Hazlan hiding something from us?_ **

_"Well, I'm sorry if my eyes are too far apart on my face that when I look at the side, it appears as though I rolled my eyes," Harry huffs in his defense. He throws his phone on top of Louis's cluttered coffee table and crosses his arms over his chest._

_Louis chortles, finding great amusement in Harry's current predicament. "I don't think it works that way, Haz. It's either you rolled your eyes or you didn't roll your eyes. Which is it?"_

_"I didn't," Harry says with finality. He doesn't elaborate or whine further and, instead, turns the telly on, effectively ending his and Louis's conversation. Truth be told, he's afraid that he might tell Louis what the blonde supermodel has whispered right against his ear, the words which has sent the normally laid-back Harry Styles into reacting negatively infront of dozens of cameras._

_"If you say so." Louis eyes Harry suspiciously but doesn't press the issue further and for that the younger lad is thankful._

_They are then plunged into comfortable silence for a couple of minutes, until Harry's phone rings. The curly-haired brunette swipes to the right on his device's screen and answers the unknown call._

_"Hello?"_

_"You really have changed, haven't you?"_

_All the wind inside Harry is knocked out once he hears that familiar rough voice filter through the phone. "W-What? Z-Z-Zayn?"_

_From Harry's peripheral, he sees Louis sitting up straighter at the mention of their former bandmates' name._

_"I didn't want to believe that you did what you did to Gigi. But, I saw a video and just had to accept the fact that you disrespected her infront of thousands of people," Zayn elaborates. He sounds furious and Harry can only imagine the fire burning behind those golden eyes._

_"Zayn, I," Harry manages to say, racking up his brain for any reason to use as a response to the accusation, other than telling Zayn straight up that Gigi has whispered_ **_Zayn's mine now_ ** _to him. Why she knows that those words will rile Harry up? It's a mystery, one that Harry wants to solve but doesn't even know where to start. "It's not like what you think. I wasn't- I didn't disrespect her in any way."_

_Zayn snorts and Harry feels himself deflate, his heart, which is beating a mile a minute after hearing Zayn's voice after so long, is slowing down._

_"When you didn't answer any of my calls, I tried to be understanding. I left you. Of course, you are bound to be angry," Zayn continues. "But, when you changed your number, I realized that it's your way of cutting me off from your life. I know I have no right, but it hurt. Alot. Now, it's like I don't know you anymore. You're so different and it's not even the good kind."_

_"I haven't c-changed at all. I'm still Harry...your best m-mate. Zayn, I'm sorry. I handled your decision to quit the band in a bad way, I know. I was horrible, but I..." Harry stops short, unable to continue his line of thought. He's afraid of saying what he truly feels about Zayn, to be rejected._

_"Just save it, Harry," Zayn sighs. "Next time, try to be more respectful of Gigi. Fucking hell, respect all women, will you?" Then, he hangs up._

_The dial tone rings in Harry's ears, a distant background music for the breaking of the lad's heart. It is the last time that Harry lets Louis catch him as he crumples to the carpeted floor, wracked with anguish and defeat. It's time for him to move on._

Harry prefers his mobile phone's internet connection turned off, nowadays. To his friends, family and work colleagues, they are aware that they can reach him through texts and calls. As for his fans, he decides that randomly meeting them out on the streets will be the only way that he interacts with them now. Without the constant notifications from his different social media platforms, he feels lighter than ever, healthier in both mind and emotions. It's liberating and Harry reckons that it is one of his best decisions in life.

One particular night, a few months later, Harry is feeling particularly braver, so he pulls up his messaging app and types out a message that he has been rehearsing for the last couple of weeks.

**Zayn, I hope you've been well. It's been so long since we've last seen and talked to each other, huh? I'm aware that we've got a lot of things to resolve between the two of us, but I reckon we should just let time decide when that perfect opportunity will be. Until then, just know that I am eternally regretful for distancing myself from you and for not letting you explain yourself when you wanted to. I'm sorry and I hope that we'd get that chance to talk someday soon. All the love, H x**

As Harry presses send, he closes his eyes and reminisces of the times that everything is good. There's a bittersweet feeling in his chest and he hopes for the best between him and Zayn because he knows that deep down, there's a tiny corner in Zayn's heart, a little space, which Harry occupies and that is enough for the young lad.


End file.
